People of Pleasure
by Marina J. Neary
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 4 5 |
part 4
Philadelphia, Fall 2025
My landscapes sold for $7,548.91, after taxes. Keith finally got around to getting them appraised. When he realized they were not worth millions, he decided to get them off his hands. He needed cash here and now. He got tired of living in a closet above the smoke shop and upgraded to a one-bedroom.
A small law firm downtown bought the paintings. The senior partner’s daughter was toying with the idea of going into the arts, and her father used my paintings and the story behind them as a cautionary tale.
Now that I knew my worth, I felt better about taking that adjunct position at Temple. I was no Juan Carreño de Miranda and, after my recent trip to seventeenth-century Madrid, I was not sure I wanted to be him. I felt humbled and strangely grounded.
Before you get angry at Keith, he did not pocket all the money from the sale. He surprised me with a cruise to the Bahamas. Remember I told you about the former head of the Dance program at UArts? Well, she did follow through with her plans to become a cruise ship choreographer and signed up with Carnival.
Now, as you may know, Carnival is not exactly top of the line. The cabins are filthy, the food is greasy, and the entertainment is lowbrow. Since most of the passengers are over two hundred pounds, my former colleague had this brilliant idea to make the evening performances more relatable for the audience. This is how “People of Pleasure” was born, a feel-good variety act made up of plus-size dancers, starring Ginny Martinez.
Ginny was born with Prader-Willi syndrome that caused constant hunger, leading to obesity and type-two diabetes. She was already in her twenties and not expected to live past forty. The rare genetic disease did not keep Ginny from pursuing her dream of dancing. Between shows, she mingled with the passengers and praised the all-you-can-eat package. Her cheeks were always stuffed and her fingers greasy. She stopped chewing only to take photos with her fans.
I ran into Ginny at a chocolate stand during a formal night. She was wearing a splendid red gown with gold flowers. We locked eyes for a few seconds, as we recognized each other from another life.
“I swear, I know you from somewhere,” she said with a mischievous squint.
“I guess I have one of those faces. I used to work with Brenda, your choreographer. She used to develop the dance curriculum at UArts. Maybe she mentioned me in passing.”
Ginny’s synthetic eyelashes flew upward. “Omigawd, you’re Perry? Perry Irwin?”
“Whatever is left of him,” I chuckled into my cup of lukewarm cocoa. Humility came to me easily those days. I had very few bragging rights.
Ginny popped a cocktail cherry in her mouth. “Don’t hate me for saying this, but I’m glad UArts closed. Otherwise, Brenda and I never would’ve met. She loves working with larger dancers. After twenty years of choreographing skeletons? It’s so liberating.”
“I... see that.”
Ginny took my arm and pulled me outside on the deck, but not before refilling her plate with chocolate-dipped macaroons. She clearly wanted me to herself for the next five minutes, and I was not about to argue with a three-hundred pound diva in a red and gold gown.
“Tell me about you, Perry. How’s your artistic life? Working on anything?”
I had that funny feeling about being on the hook. “Not really. I’ve been teaching and grading assignments. Had to take a computer class, just so I don’t look like a dinosaur in front of my students. Temple has been good to me. Can’t complain. Got my paycheck and health insurance. What else can a guy my age ask for? I think my painting days are over.”
I deliberately tried to make my life sound as dull as possible. Hopefully, Ginny would get bored and shift her attention to someone else. For some reason, her lively interest in me made me uncomfortable.
“How can we fix that? You need a new muse, Perry. A beautiful face to get you out of your rut.”
“Oh, Ginny, it’s sweet of you to care, but I honestly don’t think the world of high art is missing me. My stuff is outdated. It’s not edgy enough. So many young artists popping up everywhere.”
“I want you to paint me.”
Trapped between the guardrail and Ginny’s soft belly, I had no place to run. I thought of a scene from a famous movie about a much more luxurious ship with a tragic fate.
“Like one of my French girls?”
“Like one of your Spanish freaks.” Her lips, soaked in syrup, were dangerously close to my ear. For a second, I feared she would take a bite out of my earlobe.
“Now, Ginny,” I muttered, “you’re probably confusing me with someone. I don’t paint... freaks. I mostly focus on inanimate objects: landscapes and such. Human beings of any shape are not my forte.”
“Come on, Perry! You painted me before.”
“Did I? When was that?”
“Three and a half centuries ago. I know Keith Librandi. He’s my friend, too. He gave me one of his magic gummies. I was there in the studio in Madrid. The fat girl from the painting is me. You think it’s a coincidence that we have the same name and the same diagnosis? And you... I recognized you right away. You have the same bushy sideburns. I posed for you before, and I can do it again. I’ll take my clothes off, this time of my own free will. I’m not that terrified six-year-old anymore. It can happen as early as tonight. Come to my stateroom. It has a balcony and a mini-bar. We can do some beautiful work together. It will totally revive your career.”
I had no desire to visit Ginny’s room, just as I had none to see what she looked like underneath that red dress. I suspected that saying “no” was not an option. Apparently, my weird time-travel adventure was not over. The obese girl from the painting had followed me into the present day. This time she was the one giving orders. The best I could hope for was delaying that moment of excruciating awkwardness.
“I don’t have proper supplies,” I said.
“Liar! I saw you painting on the deck at six a.m. You had your easel and everything.”
“It was just an exercise. I was trying to capture the sunrise in acrylics. I don’t have oil paints on me. And that’s what I’ll need for what you have in mind. Acrylics just don’t capture skin tone. And you plan on showing skin, so... I’ll also need a bigger canvas. Those seven by ten sheets just won’t do you justice. Look, I want to do this right. I take my work seriously and don’t cut corners. Let’s talk about this tomorrow. All right?”
* * *
Once I was in the safety of my interior cabin, I logged into my Temple portal to check emails. I had promised myself I would not do too much work while on vacation. Before I left, my boss had given me a lecture about mental health time and setting firm boundaries with my students. Yeah, yeah, if they message you at midnight, don’t respond at 1 a.m. If they start babbling about personal drama, don’t engage; refer them to the counseling center. You’re not their friend, blah, blah.
I just needed some sense of normalcy after the bizarre encounter on the deck. To decompress, I completed a few mandatory modules on cyber security, noting the substandard animation and the atrocious voiceover. So adorably low-budget! Clearly, not done by a UArts graduate. That was my entertainment for the night. I closed my laptop, changed into my flannels and fell asleep.
Copyright © 2025 by Marina J. Neary
